She looks at my shirt
crumpled
and worn out
pokes a finger through
one of the holes
signals me to come closer
“Why don’t you throw this one away?”
“But I like it.”
“I know, but this is embarrassing.”
she throws it in the trash
and soon
my favourite shirt
is being used for dusting my room
and cleaning my car
sometimes, when I am alone
in my car
I pick up the rag and smell it
hoping the fragrance
of the evenings we spent
at your Green Park house
is still there
but it isn’t
there is a turquoise blemish though
probably your nail paint
I better drive now
my neighbour just saw me
smelling a rag.
